


"Now give us a kiss."

by thelastbarricade



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: "Now give us a kiss" is the best line I am not even sorry, Angst, Loki's POV, M/M, My take on a deleted scene from Thor, envious!Loki and Jealous!Loki are the best to play around with, mangst feels of the brotherly proportions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastbarricade/pseuds/thelastbarricade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The weight of his brothers palm pressed up against the curve of his throat was enough to warrant a shiver throughout the tricksters body. A subtle jolt, it was, not that of arousal or fear; but of connection and compassion.<br/>Of sorrow and envy.<br/>Of longing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Now give us a kiss."

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [THIS](http://ofmarrowandmen.tumblr.com/post/27397883326) photoset/deleted scene from 'Thor'.

The weight of his brothers palm pressed up against the curve of his throat was enough to warrant a shiver throughout the tricksters body. A subtle jolt, it was, not that of arousal or fear; but of connection and compassion.  
  Of sorrow and envy.   
  Of  _longing_.  
  And when his brothers grip tightens in the slightest, his smile faltering for a moment as they linger on his, Loki feels himself slipping. Falling. Falling from his grace, should he have ever been blessed with it.  
  
  He hid it well then, beneath a shy, coy smile; meeting the eyes of his other, his brother, with no hesitation. It was so easy for Loki: being the younger, the lesser expected of the two brothers. No one questioned him in truth, no one truly bothered to pay the smaller teen mind. He’d learned that feigning interest was key. To pretend and put on a show was essential. To draw attention to yourself was forbidden.   
  
  Every rule he’d coveted for himself, for his own protection and convenience, did not apply to Thor however.   
  Thor did not have rules.   
  Thor did not have to follow and feign and pretend. He was a son of Odin—the first born.   
  But what of Loki? The second son. Loki was but a shadow when compared to the light that was Thor.  Even now, in his own eyes as he stood before his brother in the luminescent lighted hall before the Coronation that would brand the brothers two titles forever apart; he too could see at least that was truth. Loki was the second son, second best…but he was  _nobody’s_  fool. Not even his own.  
  
 The realization never quite sunk in fully for Loki, admittedly. It—his reputation among Asgard—was not a thought he pondered on for long less the seething begin and his mood be ruined. His natural-born talent for the arts of deception did not go unnoticed by even himself, and definitely did gain the attention of all those who looked upon him. 

  And so the names had started young. Started as loud shouted taunting in the courtyard and usually ended in a scuffle or two. Loki remembers those days now, how they surrounded him first in the time when his magic showed true and raw. He was only five then. Thor, being of seven, was already well into his arranged studies and had built up his own little reputation as the golden, promised, first born of Odin. The would-be-Warrior. The Promised Prince.   
  
  But Loki…? He was darker in comparison, and not just by sight of his raven locks. Thor’s’ body was golden, bronzed, burly and built. Loki was lithe and slender, with pale, velvety skin as white as the moons face and all the forth-comings of a serpents grace.  His eyes were, even as a child, older. For one so young he held much beyond his years for his time and his indifference to the other children—his stoic calm—was off-putting to most. His magic scared the others, enticed them for reasons so wrong, deemed him different; and that was his downfall. His  _difference_.  
  
  Loki took to his studies early in his childhood, while Thor on the other hand took years to get anything down. He valued books and could often be found curled up in a chair like a content little cat down in the library or study, Thor: weapons were his calling, the sparring field his feast. Loki was quiet, stoic in nature, polite and rarely ever raised his voice even when angered. Thor was loud, unabashed, haughty and hot tempered at all hours of the day, and he could rarely last five seconds without throwing out a comment that he (and sometimes Loki included) would likely regret.  
  
  _Different_.  
  Loki learned the meaning of the word well in years to pass.  
  Mainly he learned to compare and contrast himself between his brother.  
  
  Thor.  
  Loki.  
  Loki.  
  Thor.  
  
  They were different, they were balanced; two sides of the same coin.  
  Each brother carrying attributes the other simply  _needed_  to thrive.  
  But the differences also gained Loki his title. His titles, rather.  
  And for once he was no longer just the second son.  
  He was Loki:  
  Sly Silver-tongue.   
  The timid trickster.  
  The daring doer of deceit and wielder of magic.   
  The _coward_.  
  
  Coward.  
  Because of his magic that deemed him so.  
  How unfair it was, but he accepted it.  
  Thor defended him, kept the whispers to a minimum—even stopped them for a while—but Loki had embedded their words into memory.  
  He could never forget. Not even Thor, through soothing simple words and promised punishments could change that.  
  
  His brothers smile was honest, open, eager and…perfect. The timid trickster leaned against the touch slightly, showing his affection. Thor’s smile was perfect, and Loki wanted to tear it from its place.   
  Wanted to wear it, to feel it. Loki wanted happiness for himself for once—just once—and he wanted this title, this Coronation: in  _his_  name. Was it too much to ask? Years of having been jaded, been left to the duty of assuring his big brothers happiness above his own…Could he, for once,  _not_  be happy for his brother?  
  
  No, no.  
  He was Loki.  
  He was dutiful, and he was to be loyal in the eyes of Thor.  
  This was Thor.  
  This was his  _brother_.  
  
” _Now give us a kiss._ ” The trickster encourages with a tilt of his head. His voice is slow, murmured in an affectionate fashion; purred in that feline fancy of his. The younger brothers eyes flash back to his others, a bright cypress green in the low lighting of the golden halls. There is happiness there within his hues, of course. There has to be.   
  
  He is is Loki.   
  For Thor, he must be loyal.  
  
” _Stop!_ ” Thor’s playful voice chastises his younger half with a small point of his finger. The subtle smile lingering on his lip brightens, pearl white canines flashing from beneath a strong, defined cupids bow. There is no hesitation as his eyes scan his others, missing the obvious signs of distress in his darker half.   
  It is one of the traits Loki has always admired about his brother. Admired and pitied. His accepting nature. His ignorance.   
  
  Thor pulls his palm away from Loki’s throat and there is an emptiness there in its wake. Loki lets his smile falter in the slightest at the lost contact, but for only a moment. Just one.  
  
  Loki must remain Loyal, for this is Thor.  
  But Loki is a trickster,  
  a deviant,  
  _a coward_.  
  Or so the children have said and Thor has denied, over and over, grinding and embedding the images and chants that now sit in the mainstream of Loki’s fragile mind.  
  
  Yes, he is a trickster.  
  A wielder of magic and deception and deceit.  
  The young Sly Silver-tongue in the flesh.  
  
  But he is also Loki.  
  The second son.  
  The would-be King.  
  And this is Thor’s big day.  
    
  Frost Giants lay in wait,   
  and the Coronation is to begin.  
  Loki shakes his head in slow with a small grin saved only for the private company of his brother. He flicks his glance back to where the ladies and Gentleman wait, with mother and the All-Father in turn.  
  
” _Let us not keep a good crowd waiting, then?_ ” He extends a hand to the hall before Thor, lighting the way with a flicker of emerald light that spreads from his slender fingertips. “ _They’re_   _waiting_ ,” He gives an exaggerated bow, loving smile strained on his pale lips. “ _For their **King**_.” 


End file.
